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My dad is of the opinion that cats are “smarter” than dogs. Not coincidentally, he and my mom own a couple of cats, one of which was sitting next to his chair at Thanksgiving dinner.

Dad decided to share some turkey with the cat. He stood up with a piece of turkey, showed it to the cat, than walked out to the kitchen and dropped it in the cat’s food dish. When he returned to his chair, the cat was still sitting there. Never moved.

“That is one stupid cat,” I said.

“Well, he’s three-quarters blind,” my dad said, although he didn’t say how he could possibly know that.

“If my dog was here, he would have jumped up and eaten your whole dinner the second you left the room.”

My dad’s holding a bottle of wine as he says, “Who wants straws?”

“Are you asking me,” I say, “if I want to drink wine through a straw?“

As it turns out, what he actually said was “Who wants Shiraz?”

After Thanksgiving dinner, the hostess asked everyone to please stack their dishes and bring them into the kitchen.

I started to stand up — not to stack dishes because my wife had already picked up my dishes — but just to stretch my legs, when my dad, who was sitting next to me, put his hand on my arm and whispered, “Don’t get up. That’s woman’s work.”

I said, “I’m just getting up to stretch.”

“Don’t move,” he said.

My dad, like a lot of men his age, has old school views on gender roles.

Earlier in the evening, my mom was saying she’d read that women control 60 percent of the wealth in America.

“That’s all right,” my dad said, “because we control the women.”

Compare that to one of my nephews, who says things like “I’m nobody’s patsy,” then turns to his wife and says, “Isn’t that right, honey?”

My dad asked me at Thanksgiving dinner if I wanted to bring my family along to an L.A. Master Chorale concert that he and my mom and my sister are going to next month. Tickets range from $24 to $68.

I said, “There isn’t really anyone at my house who’d enjoy that. We’re philistines. In fact, to be honest with you, I’d be more interested in watching American Idol. Now, I’ve never seen American Idol, but at least it’s free and I wouldn’t have to leave my house.

“And what’s with calling yourself the ‘Master’ Chorale anyway? What hubris! Who gives themselves a title like that? ‘Listen to us! We’re the masters of choral music!’ Oh yeah? Why don’t you just sing something and let people decide for themselves what masters you are.

“I mean, if you play third base, you don’t tell everyone what a great third baseman you are. You just play third base and let people see for themselves if you’re great or not. Right?”

Now, I stand by every word of that . . . I just wish someone had told me ahead of time that my brother-in-law, who was in attendance at the dinner, is in the Master Chorale . . .

Pumpkin pie is my favorite Thanksgiving food, but for throwing in someone’s face, a cream pie becomes the preferred choice.

The reason I mention that is that at the Thanksgiving family get-together, one of my nieces, age 19 or 20, announced that she’s always wanted to take a pie in the face.

My ex-sister-in-law was more than happy to oblige and immediately started looking around to see what was available.

Now a pretty girl taking a pie in the face is not only hilarious, it’s also — dare I say it — kinda hot. Am I right?

So it was a real disappointment to find that the only pies available were mince, apple and pumpkin. No cream pies.

Well, maybe next year . . .

Things I’m thankful for this year:

1. Nothing lasts forever.